


Yatchs

by Sonora



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Boats and Ships, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reddington might be laying low, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the scenery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yatchs

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo super short little PWP. Sorry, it's about all I have time for right now!
> 
> Pre-canon or alternate universe; you decide. (Although really, Donald and Red having a relationship prior to Donald attending Quantico would explain so much about why he hates Red so much, eh?)

Hands scrambling for purchase on the polished teak, Donny holds in the moan that’s trying to escape.

Not that the boy’s doing a very good job of hiding how eager he is, Reddington thinks to himself. Not that Reddington minds himself. Donny’s embarrassed, or self-conscious, or angry - Reddington had asked him, his first week on the boat, how it was playing houseboy for a Congressman - but Reddington could care less what the problem is. Boy fucks like a hellion, and the more he pretends he doesn’t want it, the sweeter it gets.

And right now, with Senator Ressler sleeping in a cabin not fifty feet away, Donny’s definitely protesting.

Shoving him off, actually, eyes blazing, pupils dilated with lust. He’s hard in his khakis, hair mussed from where Reddington’s been playing with it, and he’s doing that thing he does where he licks his bottom lip.

Oh yes. 

Reddington wants to just devour this boy.

“Dude, my parents...”

“ _Dude_ is such a plebeian term, dear Donald. Hardly something I expect to hear out of a Harvard man.”

That just gets the boys glowering even more. “I’m at Georgetown.”

“Ah, of course, how silly of me to forget.” Reddington keeps one hand on the bulkhead that contains the instrumentation, keeping his distance, not quite blocking Donny’s path to the cabin’s exit. He’s seen quite a bit over the past few decades on his tour of the criminal underworld, but rape’s never been his thing. It’s always more fun when they want it, and for all Donny’s protests, Reddington knows; he wants it. “You’re such a good Catholic boy.”

“Fuck off,” Donny snarls.

But doesn’t move.

It’s all part of the dance they’ve been doing since Reddington took this job. Captain of the Ressler family’s private yatch. Bit of a vacation, really; good place to lay low, waiting for INTERPOL to calm down about that little museum heist a few months back. Nice to be back at sea for a while, and it’s not like the Resslers use their yatch every day. The senator mostly only takes it out when he has guests to entertain. Donny’s usually along, making those connections that are going to take him right to the top of wherever he wants to go.

Boy’s told him he’s got an internship with the FBI this summer.

Be a shame to see this one go work for that pack of morons. Reddington’s tempted to extend him an offer - better pay, better benefits, all the hunting and none of the red tape, a hell of a lot more fun - but with as much as his senator daddy pontificates about _honor and country_ , Donny would probably call the cops on him. Or something.

Shame.

At least Reddington can enjoy this much of him. Right here, the chill Atlantic night rolling by outside the yatch’s windows. Twenty-one and needy and gorgeous. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Donny tells him again, far less conviction in his voice this time.

Reddington just smiles in reply. Leans in. Kisses him.

And Donny opens up.

His hands leave the bulkhead and dig into Reddington’s uniform jacket, mouth so soft, so sweet, whimpers escaping him as the older man gives him absolutely no quarter. Reddington grinds his own burgeoning erection into Donny’s. He slides his hands up the boy’s waist, down his arms, peeling them off slowly, carefully, so it’s too late for Donny to escape when Reddington yanks him around, pins him to the bulkhead.

“Oh Donald, the things I would do to you,” Reddington purrs in the boy’s ear, savoring the way Donny wriggles his delectable ass back into Red’s own hips. “You have no idea.”

“So shut up and do it,” Donny pants, bracing himself up on the bulkhead. 

Reddington licks a hot line up the back of Donny’s neck. He moves his hands around that trim waist - boy’s on the rowing team, and dear lord, his body shows it - fingers starting to work on his buttons. “My pleasure, sweet boy.”

“I’m not... oh fuck.” 

“Oh fuck indeed,” Reddington teases back.

There are nights when he takes his time with his Donny; long and slow seductions over champagne up on the top deck, or spiked cocoa and cozy blankets when the winds are up. Nights when he enjoys himself, loses himself in the beautiful body that’s writhing against his right now. Nights when Reddington feels like he’s human again, instead of this demon he knows he’s turning into.

This is not one of those nights.

Tonight, he yanks Donny’s pants off, nearly ripping them in the process, barely stretching the boy before he drives into him, knocking the wind clear out of him. He’s still somewhat slick, open, from this morning, when he crawled into Red’s bunk before anyone else on the yatch was awake, and the tightness, the friction, takes Reddington’s breath away. Between them, they get some lube in there and things go easier, but Donald’s still groaning when he comes, his orgasm triggered by Red’s, his own hand wrapped around his own dick, Reddington’s forehead between his shoulders, Red’s fingers digging into his hips. 

Tonight, the storm passes quickly, and Red lets Donald push him back into the captain’s chair. Straddles his hips. Takes his face in come-smeared hands and kisses him, long and languid, smug satisfaction in every little grind of his hips. 

Reddington holds him there. Kisses him back. Wishes he could take the boy with him, when he leaves. But then, it wouldn’t really be Donald, _him_ , anymore. 

And Reddington quite likes the way Donald is, right now.


End file.
